


Battle For Your Affections

by QuickSilverFox3



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: 3 + 1, Background Relationships, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 21:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20803496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: Rufus Drumknott has three loves in his life: Havelock Vetinari, Organisation and Stationary.





	Battle For Your Affections

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of Drumknott's character and backstory were inspired by DictionaryWrites' Patrician and Clerk series :)

"Mr Drumknott."

"Sir?"

Vetinari didn't need to look at Drumknott to know what he was doing[1]. He'd grown accustomed to the man's presence over their many years working and cohabiting together, even if only the first fact was common knowledge. Vetinari glanced back over his shoulder, eyebrow slightly raised in a gesture more aligned with amusement than genuine rebuke. Drumknott met his gaze calmly, a faint blush rising on his cheeks despite himself.

Vetinari shifted his gaze, the briefest twitch that Drumknott was hyper aware of, running his eyes over the stock in the small storefront, tallying up the numbers against the current numbers from the Merchant's Guild out of sheer force of habit[2].

Journals with leather covers, burnished in all eight colours of light gleamed on the shelves; paper crisp and white and stacked upwards in towering piles that nearly brushed the ceiling; ink pots labelled with intricate copperplate handwriting, paired with soft, fresh quills occupied a table tucked off to the side.

"Stationary again, Mr Drumknott?"

"It is a hobby of mine, my lord," Drumknott replied, lips twitching with the barest hint of a smile, outwardly remaining the perfect model of a Clerk's Guild graduate[3].

Vetinari ached more than anything to be able to reach out and take hold of his hand, a simple mindless action that others barely gave a second thought, but he couldn’t. The gap between them, barely a quarter of a metre, seemed to yawn, an impassable stretch of land even as the lines of propriety became blurred. But that was not who they were.

Drumknott inclined his head, and Vetinari turned and continued walking slowly, cane tapping against the cobblestones, Drumknott a comfort behind him even as whispers about his identity spread out like ripples.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

Drumknott wasn’t paying attention. He was listening, yes, but he wasn’t taking anything in, merely a mostly passive observer to this meeting[4], pen dancing over the page as he took notes in his curious shorthand. It had been a delightful distraction during the first few weeks Drumknott worked for him, picking through his particular brand of organisation, translating the mess of symbols and letters into understandable words. Vetinari kept a few notes tucked into the locked drawers of his desk, contents indecipherable to everyone but them, but still for his eyes only.

Vetinari followed his gaze, internally delighting in the way faces paled and voices faltered as his gaze roamed over the other attendees, Vimes' scowl remaining chiselled into his face, unhappy to be at this meeting and still uncomfortable with his title.

"Here we go again," Vetinari murmured, barely more than a whisper of sound, Drumknott straightening slightly and casting him a Look. Vimes' scowl managed to become even deeper, a thing he previously thought was impossible. The young man from the paper, on the other hand, looked so delighted that both his girlfriend and his boyfriend had to hiss in his ears to get him to sit back down, hands flapping in his joy at a new story.

Vetinari, Patrician, Tyrant, the Man with the Vote, sat back into his chair in surrender, jotting down his own note on the edge of his official paperwork in a spot he knew Drumknott would see, his sharp eyes missing nothing. It was a beautiful pen after all.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," Drumknott replied, voice mostly the polished accent he cultivated but already the rougher sounds were beginning to leech through.

Wendy Kinder paused in the doorway of the Patrician's Palace, looking so much like Drumknott it was uncanny, one hand resting on her hip, the other hanging onto the fastening of the bag slung across her chest.

"Do you remember that little shop around the corner?" she said suddenly, eyes going foggy with the sheen of memories, a small smile curling across her face.

"I do."

Drumknott shifted uncomfortably, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly.

"You used to love going there and rummaging through all the pens and papers, just spend hours in the corner of that tiny little building!" Wendy laughed, late afternoon sun turning her hair golden, a stray beam landing on Drumknott before he shifted away.

"It's getting late Wendy. Give my love to Rodney and Hamish."

Drumknott's tone never wandered away from pleasant but the dismissal was as clear as day, and Wendy hugged her younger brother before making her way home, tailed at a respectable distance by a Dark Clerk[5].

Vetinari drew away from the crack in the doorway, letting it swing closed silently behind him, frown creasing his brow.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

Drumknott sleepily mumbled something into the cushions in Vetinari's personal quarters, having flopped face first onto the sofa the second the door shut behind him, toeing off his shoes as he did so[6].

"Rufus."

Vetinari carefully carded his fingers through Drumknott's hair, heart feeling full to bursting as Drumknott mumbled something, breaking off to yawn, pressing himself further into Vetinari's touch. Eventually, Drumknott stood, wobbling slightly from lack of sleep, allowing himself to lean on Vetinari as the pair made their way over to the bed, Drumknott sitting down on it heavily, immediately lying back onto the thick duvet.

A package, meticulously wrapped in plain paper, placed directly onto his chest interrupted Drumknott's descent into sleep. His fingers were clumsy as they picked at the wrapping, tearing into it as minimally as possible to reveal the contents: a dark blue journal with A'Tuin embossed on the front cover; an ink pen, bubbles glimmering in the faintest sheens of octarine; a quill, sharpened by Vetinari's own hand, feather black and glossy; and an inkpot, label neat and intricate.

Drumknott blinked in surprise, thoughts as slow as if they were travelling through treacle.

"Havelock?"

"Happy birthday Rufus."

Vetinari kissed Drumknott, carefully and slowly, pausing to enjoy the sensation of Drumknott's hands helplessly gripping his shoulders, too tired to coordinate anything else.

"Sleep now. I'll be here."

[1] Drumknott had a set group of postures he would adopt in public, which he defined as any situation that wasn't just Vetinari. Currently, he would have his hands clasped in front of him, the dagger in his sleeve easily accessible; head raised and eyes masked by the circular golden glasses he always wore that Vetinari had given him; and back as straight as a board, uncomfortable but hiding it well.

[2] The Guild's occasionally got it into their collective heads that, as the Patrician was rather reclusive, they could... Push boundaries. As if he wouldn't notice. Charlie was helpful in more ways than he knew, not just in standing in for Vetinari, but allowing him to move around the city unnoticed and unhindered by the guards he had to keep with him, so Sybil didn't worry. Drumknott was a common enough sight with both himself and Charlie that it was a perfect disguise: in plain sight and barely even hidden at all. Downey would be furious it was working.

[3] The Clerk's Guild prided themselves on producing detail orientated and neat graduates who were rivalled only by the Assassins in their ability to remain hidden until 'needed'. They were very proud of Drumknott who distanced himself from the Guild ever since they threw him out shortly before he was hired at the Patrician's Palace. They did not pride themselves on the violent streak that ran through Drumknott like a bookmark, bright and noticeable if you were looking for it, which most people were not.

[4] This was a skill normally only practiced by schoolchildren in long classes on warm days, employees in mandatory meetings that were more of an excuse for the boss to complain and berate them while ensuring he was nothing but perfect, and husbands who maintained that they had no idea why their wives left them. Their wives knew exactly why and had even shared the reason on several occasions, but their husband wasn’t taking in any information.

[5] The Dark Clerk's maintained that they would have done the task of making sure Wendy got home safely whether the Patrician ordered them to or not. For some reason no-one outside the Palace staff could understand, they liked Drumknott, a feat no previous Patrician's personal clerk had managed. Whether it was his understanding of the importance of correct organisation, his sheer delight to attend stationary shops after a night of drinking with them, or the fact that he didn't believe him to be above them, no-one could say for certain. But they knew they liked him.

[6] Somehow, although they were not taken off with all the due care Drumknott normally applied to his every action, they were still perfectly aligned.


End file.
